


(at the end of everything) you'll be there

by Arbryna



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, Sibling Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:12:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian has barely seen her sister in the past six years, but when everything in Kirkwall comes crashing down, Bethany insists on staying by her side--forcing Marian to face the reason she kept her distance in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(at the end of everything) you'll be there

The cave is remote—nestled high up on Sundermount, its entrance obscured by overgrown weeds and fallen rocks. Still, Bethany is careful to disguise the opening once they're inside and set up a magical alarm system so they might at least have a fighting chance to defend themselves if the templars come calling. If Marian were alone, she wouldn't bother with so much caution—not that she could. Bethany is the mage, not her; the most Marian could hope for would be to hunker down with her daggers and pray to whomever might be listening that she lives through the night. 

With Bethany here, though—stubborn, foolish Bethany—Marian is happy for any added protection. If it were up to her, Bethany would have set out with the rest on Isabela's ship just after the battle. With Anders dead, slain in the Gallows when Orsino—of all people—turned to blood magic, Marian is more or less at the top of the Chantry's list of most dangerous enemies. Whatever forces aren't needed to beat down the uprisings that are sure to crop up in the coming days will be sent to find her—whether to kill her or imprison her or brainwash her, she doesn't know and doesn't care to find out. 

Neither does she like to think of what might happen to anyone found traveling alongside her. Bethany has been in the templars' clutches before, but the punishment for an apostate aiding the Champion of Kirkwall is likely to be far worse than anything Bethany might have experienced in her six years in the Gallows. The thought of her little sister lying dead at a templar's hands—or worse, those warm chocolate eyes staring blank and cold below a forehead branded with a blazing sun—is more than Marian can stomach. 

"You shouldn't be here," Marian says, her eyes intently following the slide of the whetstone as it scrapes along the edge of her dagger. She knows it's useless, that her words will only fall on deaf ears, but she never has been good at knowing when to let a fight lie. 

"And yet, here I am," Bethany responds, her voice heavy with fatigue. She shakes out her bedroll, then kneels next to her pack and starts to rummage through it. "You may as well get used to it." 

Marian offers a dissatisfied grunt in response and flips her dagger to sharpen the other edge. 

Bethany tugs her sleeping shift free from the pack, scowling as she turns to face Marian. "Is it really so terrible, being stuck with me?" she huffs. "Am I spoiling the rugged image of a lone wanted fugitive?" 

With a sigh, Marian drops her hands to her knees and looks up to meet her sister's gaze. "Beth, that's not it and you know it. I told you, it's not safe—"

"I can take care of myself, you know," Bethany interrupts, reaching up to work at the laces of her robes. "I'm not a little girl anymore." 

"I know that," Marian chokes out, quickly shifting her eyes back to her dagger. She knows all too well—that's part of the problem. Her hand trembles as she drags the whetstone down in measured strokes, focusing all of her energy on looking away as Bethany undresses. She hoped that six years apart might cause this feeling to fade, that she'd be able to look at Bethany and see nothing more than a beloved sister again; she couldn't have been more wrong. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches glimpses of dim light from the lantern flickering over bare skin, and her stomach twists into knots that even Isabela wouldn't be able to untie. 

"You don't always have to protect me," Bethany says gently. She sinks down onto the ground next to Marian, legs drawn up to her chest as she leans back against the rough cave wall. Her shoulder knocks playfully against Marian's. "If you'd let me, sometimes I could even be the one to protect _you_." 

Marian lets out a dry, bitter laugh. "You'd likely do a better job of it than I have. Everyone I try to protect ends up dead or imprisoned." The next swipe of the whetstone is more forceful than necessary, and Marian winces at the nasty whine the metal makes. Bethany's hand slides over her own, stilling the motion; Marian's knuckles turn white from the force with which she clutches the stone. 

"That wasn't your fault," Bethany insists, her thumb stroking back and forth across the back of Marian's hand.

"I could have brought you with us," Marian replies stubbornly. 

"And for all you know I could have died down there in the Deep Roads," Bethany retorts. It's an argument long overdue, one they haven't had the opportunity to have—well, that Marian hasn't allowed them the opportunity to have. Bethany's hand stills. "Is that why you never came to see me? You blamed yourself?" 

If only that were all it was. Marian sighs, sets aside her dagger and whetstone so she can bring her hands to her face. She _wanted_ to visit Bethany, so many times, but she was always afraid—that Bethany might hate her for landing her in the Gallows, or that seeing Bethany led around like a prisoner would make her crazy enough to admit her feelings, and Bethany would _definitely_ hate her. "I couldn't bear to see you in there," she finally says; it's a half-truth, but it's the best she can manage.

"Oh," Bethany murmurs, and it dawns on Marian that her sister sounds genuinely surprised.

"Surely you must have known why I stayed away." Marian's brow tightens as she glances over at Bethany. "What else could it have been?"

Wrapping her arms around her shins, Bethany rests her chin in the little dip between her knees. "I thought…that maybe you were relieved." Her fingers pick nervously at the fabric of her shift. "You had money, an estate. You could finally do whatever you wanted, without worrying about the templars discovering me. I suppose I thought you just forgot about me." 

Tears sting at Marian's eyes and she forgets to keep her distance, wrapping an arm around slender shoulders and pulling Bethany close. She plants a chaste kiss into Bethany's hair, just above her temple, then guides Bethany's head down to rest on her shoulder. "I could never forget about you," she chokes out fiercely, resting her chin on the top of Bethany's head. "Not a day went by that I didn't think of you." 

"Could have fooled me," Bethany says sullenly. 

Guilt stabs at Marian's chest. "I'm sorry," she says, rubbing gentle strokes into Bethany's arm. "I should have visited, or at least written. It was selfish of me not to." 

Bethany's shoulders shake as she lets out a watery chuckle. "With all the stories I've heard of you over the years, it's hard to imagine you selfish." 

"Those bloody stories," Marian grumbles. "Varric is lucky I had to go into hiding, or I'd be making him pay for all that rubbish." 

"It's not rubbish," Bethany says, nuzzling her head into the crook of Marian's neck. "You've always been a hero. To me, at least." 

Marian's chest tightens painfully, and it's all she can do to keep breathing, keep stroking Bethany's arm in a soft, soothing, _sisterly_ sort of way. They didn't exactly have time to bathe during their escape, so Bethany's hair smells like sweat and blood and road dirt, but underneath it is something sweet and familiar. Marian squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think about how warm Bethany is pressed against her, how many times she's imagined what Bethany's lips would taste like. 

Lost in thought as she is, Marian doesn't realize until too late that Bethany is reaching up to wipe at her eyes. The arm under her hand moves, and her fingers fall to Bethany's side, tripping over the folds of her shift. She's all too aware, then, of the way Bethany's breath catches in her throat at the accidental touch, the way her subsequent breaths are shallower than before. If she pressed her fingers to Bethany's throat right now, she's sure her sister's pulse would be racing. 

It can't be—has Bethany figured her out? Has she not been diligent enough in hiding her…perversion? This could be the thing she's dreaded for so long—Bethany realizing the extent of Marian's depravity and hating her for it. She was ready to give Bethany up before in Kirkwall, for her own good, to keep her safe, but now that Bethany's insisted on coming along, Marian's not sure she could bear it if she left. 

"Are you all right?" Marian forces out, struggling to keep her tone neutral. 

A moment passes. "I'm fine," Bethany replies, her voice thick with…something. It could be panic, or it could be…

No, it couldn't. Marian banishes the thought from her mind, forces the spark of hope back down into her chest. She can't get what she wants simply by wanting it for long enough. 

She has to know, though, has to see. "Beth, look at me," Marian says, her voice soft and shaking. She leans away, sliding her hand around to push at Bethany's shoulder until she can see her downturned face.

Slowly Bethany lifts her head, her eyes reluctantly dragging up to meet Marian's. She swallows, and Marian's eyes are drawn to the bob of her throat, the flush on her cheeks that's visible even in the low light of the lantern. It's not disgust on Bethany's face, or reproach—it's something softer, something like shame and fear and another thing that sets Marian's heart thundering in her ears. 

There must be something similar mirrored on Marian's face, because Bethany's eyes widen a bit, and the fear starts to resemble something more like wonder. "You…" she breathes, her gaze dropping to Marian's lips. 

The corners of Marian's mouth twitch with the desire to smile, but she's still terrified she's reading this wrong. Her hand trembles as she raises it to Bethany's cheek, sliding tentatively over the velvet skin. Bethany leans into the touch, reaches up to press Marian's hand more firmly against her. Marian swallows, trying to moisten a throat that has long since gone dry. Her hand drops a little, thumb brushing the corner of full lips, and if she didn't know what the last gasp meant, this one is all too clear.

At first it's chaste, the barest touch of lips—but as the shock passes, Bethany's mouth turns soft and yielding, melting against Marian's over and over as Marian's other hand comes up to cup the back of her neck. 

There is no immediate strike of lightning; the ground doesn't open up to swallow them whole for their perversion. The air around them remains cool and calm, the only sounds the soft sizzle of the lantern and the wet smacking of their lips. 

It's not until Marian's lungs start to burn that she realizes she's forgotten to breathe. In a way she's afraid to, lest she discover that this is just her latest elaborate fantasy. Soon she's not given much choice, and she tears her mouth from Bethany's with a gasp. She keeps her hand where it is, holding Bethany close; she closes her eyes, rests her forehead against her sister's and draws deep, tremulous breaths. 

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that," Marian admits in a low voice, a delicate smile teasing at her mouth. 

" _You_?" Bethany laughs, a short and breathless sound that makes Marian's chest tighten impossibly further. "Maker's breath, Sister. I must have dreamt of it every night in the Gallows."

It seems impossible to believe; Marian just gapes for a long moment, trying to reconcile this with everything else she knows. It casts everything—their whole time in Kirkwall, their whole _lives_ —in a very different light. "I never thought…" she trails off, fumbles. "I never let myself hope you might feel the same. There were so many reasons—so many things standing in the way."

Bethany swallows hard, a fragile hope shining in her eyes. "And now?" 

"Now…now all those reasons are gone." Now Bethany is free from the Gallows, now their mother is dead, now they're more than likely to spend the rest of their—probably short—lives in hiding, on the run from the Chantry. They've come so far, lost so much, only to come full-circle. The grief that Marian has lived with for years, that she managed to forget for a few glorious seconds, settles once again on her shoulders, heavy and constricting. 

It's Bethany who closes the distance this time, kissing the frown from Marian's mouth. Her trembling hand grows more steady against Marian's hip, her tongue more brazen sliding out to trace Marian's mouth. She reaches up to cup Marian's face, whimpering in frustration when their position prevents her from pressing closer.

Marian is starting to feel as though she's drunk a pitcher of the Hanged Man's finest, light-headed and tingling. Her hands drop to Bethany's hips and before she's even fully aware of it, she's tugging Bethany onto her lap. Bethany's thighs press in around her hips, her breasts a soft insistent pressure against Marian's own, and Marian feels like she might drown in the heat and smell and taste of it all.

The thin material of Bethany's shift does little to disguise her warmth, but it's still a shock to Marian when her hands slip low enough to brush against bare skin. It's smooth, hot, electric, and the contact sends shocks of energy buzzing up Marian's arms, making her wonder briefly if Bethany doesn't have pure lightning running through her veins rather than mana. She wants more of it; a low moan rumbles in her throat as she slides her hands under the hem to knead at Bethany's thighs.

Bethany chokes on another whimper, presses her hands flat against Marian's shoulders to keep her balance. Marian tenses, stills her hands; she knows where this is heading—where she so desperately wants it to go—but this isn't some girl at the Blooming Rose, or starry-eyed maiden eager to be the next notch on the bedpost of the renowned Champion of Kirkwall. This is Bethany, her sweet Bethany whom she'd die to protect from harm—even if it means protecting her from Marian herself. Marian pulls out of the kiss, her forehead falling to Bethany's shoulder as she tries to regain some semblance of self-control. 

"What's the matter?" Bethany asks after a moment. She cups the back of Marian's head, fingers tangling in short hair as blunt nails scrape comfortingly along her scalp.

"I-I don't want to hurt you," Marian admits. After living with it for so long, it's hard to silence that voice inside of her that says it's vile to even think about the sort of things she wants to do to her little sister. 

"You won't," Bethany says, calm and sure even as her pulse pounds against Marian's temple. "And anyway, I'm not as inexperienced as you might think." 

A frown tugs at Marian's mouth, and she lifts her head to narrow her eyes at Bethany. "Oh really?" 

The color already staining Bethany's cheeks deepens a bit as she shrugs. "It gets…lonely, in the Circle. We mages found a lot of creative ways to avoid the templars' notice."

Something dark and bitter rises in Marian's throat. She glances away, trying to swallow it back; her fingers inadvertently press harder into Bethany's thighs.

"Why Sister, are you _jealous_?" Bethany sounds absurdly pleased by the idea. 

"Of course not," Marian replies stubbornly, forcing her hands to relax against Bethany's skin. "I'm just protective is all." 

"Something tells me the two aren't so very different with you," Bethany says with a soft chuckle. She brings one hand forward, tucking it under Marian's chin and guiding their eyes together. "You don't have anything to worry about, you know," she continues. There's something hesitant in her expression, almost shy. "I think I've been in love with you since before I even knew what it meant. Certainly before I ever learned that I shouldn't." 

A warm, light feeling swells in Marian's chest—like her heart might very well burst, but in a good way. It lasts only moments, though, before it turns heavy again and tears sting at her eyes. There may not be anything standing in their way anymore, but that doesn't mean this will be easy. "That's probably still true, you know," she forces out around the lump in her throat. "That you shouldn't—we shouldn't—"

"Don't," Bethany interrupts, laying a finger over Marian's lips. "Not tonight. I don't want to think about templars, or magic, or what people might think. I just want to be here with you. I want one night that's only for us." 

Marian's never been able to say no to her sister, especially when she gets that bright, pleading look in her eyes. She presses a soft kiss into Bethany's fingertip, coaxing a smile onto Bethany's face. "I think I can manage that." 

Their lips meet again, and Marian's hands grow bolder, sliding up Bethany's thighs under the shift. Bethany moans and presses closer, the curve of her hips fitting perfectly in Marian's grip. The edge of Bethany's underclothes tickles at Marian's palms, and it takes all of her willpower not to yank them aside and take Bethany like this, hard and desperate and both still fully clothed. Bethany deserves better. 

Instead Marian moves higher, slipping the shift up and over Bethany's head. The lantern light casts enticing shadows over the pale skin that's revealed, highlighting the goosebumps popping up against the chill air. Marian drags her fingers down over the swells of breasts, around nipples that harden under her touch. 

"Please," Bethany gasps. Her knees tighten around Marian's hips as she arches her chest forward, yearning for more solid contact. 

The sound twists something low in Marian's belly and she lunges forward, capturing Bethany's lips while her hands slide around to Bethany's back. It's awkward, and not at all easy, but she manages to shift their positions until she can shuffle them the few feet over to Bethany's bedroll. Gently, almost reverently, she lays Bethany back on it. She sits back on her heels for a moment, letting her eyes drift over her sister's near-naked form. 

She's beautiful. Bethany's body holds little mystery to Marian—she's seen it plenty of times, watched as it changed over the years—but in this dim light, with the half-lidded look of desire so brazenly painting her delicate features, full breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, there's something breathtakingly new about it. 

Bethany pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, squirming a bit under the scrutiny. She lifts a hand, extending it toward Marian. "Come here."

It's all the encouragement Marian needs. She takes the proffered hand and presses a kiss into its palm before crawling forward. As soon as Marian's head is within reach, Bethany sinks her fingers into her hair, urging her up faster. 

Marian's mouth crashes against Bethany's as her knee falls between Bethany's legs. Bethany gasps, hips jerking, but it's apparent she's got something else on her mind when her fingers set to work at the buckles on Marian's leather armor. Marian hardly wants to wait—the need to touch Bethany makes her very bones ache—but Bethany is persistent. Finally Marian gives in, sits up and helps remove bracers and pauldrons, tossing them aside once they slip free. Bethany tugs at the bottom of her tunic, and Marian reaches down to yank it over her head. 

The first press of skin to skin draws a throaty moan from Marian's mouth. Bethany's hands sliding over her back, breasts crushing against each other, stomachs brushing as they take quick, gasping breaths between kisses—it's all so overwhelming. Marian struggles to keep her focus, pulls away from Bethany's mouth to press hot kisses along the line of her jaw, down her throat. 

Slowly Marian moves down Bethany's body, guided by her sister's gasps and whimpers and fingers tightening in her hair. She takes a nipple in her mouth, rolls her tongue around it, sucks gently at it until Bethany is quivering beneath her. She switches to the other breast as her hand slips lower, tracing the top of Bethany's underclothes. Bethany's hips jerk up as Marian's fingertips brush across her lower belly, finding the tie holding the garment on and tugging it loose. 

Marian sits back once more, tucking her fingers under the edge of the fabric and sliding it down Bethany's legs. Tossing it aside, she settles back over Bethany, cupping a breast with her hand as she leans down for another kiss. Bethany kisses back with fervor, clutching at Marian's shoulders and pressing her thighs in around Marian's leg between them. 

"Touch me," Bethany whimpers, arching up into Marian. "Please."

Arousal surges down Marian's spine, settling between her legs as throbbing need. She lowers her hand again, brushes her fingertips over soft, damp curls. One finger dips lower, dragging through an impossible abundance of moisture, and Marian groans into Bethany's mouth. She slides her finger around slowly, exploring the slick flesh, the hard little nub straining for attention. 

Bethany's hips jerk again, harder and more insistent. Gently, Marian slips one finger inside, and her eyes widen at the heat surrounding her. "Beth," she breathes almost reverently. She starts to move slowly in and out, until Bethany's hand clamps down around her wrist.

"You don't need to be so careful," Bethany pants. "I won't break."

The trust implicit in Bethany's words, shining in her eyes, makes Marian's chest clench even as the thick wanton need in Bethany's voice tests the limits of her self control. When Bethany releases her wrist Marian adds another finger, pushing in faster and harder than before. 

"Maker, yes," Bethany groans, her head arching back into the bedroll.

Marian shifts to watch her sister's face, holding herself up with one hand while the other works furiously between Bethany's legs. She curls her thumb, savoring the way Bethany gasps when it hits just the right spot on the next thrust. Bethany has always been beautiful, but right now she puts even the word to shame. 

When Bethany starts to tense, to dig her fingers into Marian's shoulders, Marian is nearly convinced she'll tumble over the edge right along with her. Marian's entire body is thrumming with energy, spiking ever higher with each rise of Bethany's hips, each quick breathless moan that sounds in her throat. The strangled cry Bethany releases as she clenches hard around Marian's fingers resonates in every part of Marian. 

She holds steady, slowing the movement of her hand as she coaxes Bethany down from her climax. Bethany's eyes are shut tight, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted; the sight steals the very breath from Marian's lungs. 

Finally Bethany's eyes flutter open. A smile pulls lazily at the corners of her mouth as her hands slide from Marian's shoulders up to her hair, tugging her down into a languid kiss. "I dreamt of that, too," she admits when their lips part. 

"Good to know I wasn't the only one," Marian replies, grinning crookedly. She pulls her fingers free, wipes them on her trousers before raising them to brush a damp lock of hair away from Bethany's forehead. "Though it was rather awkward when we were still sharing a room at Gamlen's." 

Bethany chuckles, reaches up to cover Marian's hand with her own. She turns her head, pressing a kiss into Marian's palm, then relaxes back against the bedroll with a contented sigh. "That was far better than any dream."

Marian smirks. "Well, I am very skilled."

"And also still full of yourself, I see," Bethany shoots back. 

"I'd rather you be full of me," Marian says, the teasing in her voice shaded by the arousal still throbbing under her skin. 

"Maker," Bethany groans, rolling her eyes. "I left you with Isabela for far too long." She shoves playfully at Marian's shoulder.

Any retort Marian might have come up with disappears when their positions shift enough for Bethany's thigh to press fleetingly between her legs. Her breath catches in her throat, and it's a struggle to resist the urge to grind down again, harder. 

The smile on Bethany's lips fades as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Her fingertips trail down Marian's chest, blunt nails scraping lightly over her abdomen. 

Marian's arm trembles with the effort to hold her up. Her stomach quivers at Bethany's touch, but she clings to every last remaining shred of self-control she possesses. "You don't have to—"

"Nonsense." Bethany cuts her off, moving her hand to Marian's shoulder and pressing until Marian lies back beside her. She quirks an eyebrow at Marian as she rises up on her elbow. "You don't get to have all the fun." 

Bethany sets to work unlacing Marian's trousers, and Marian can feel her entire body clench in anticipation. By the time Bethany's hand slips beneath her waistband, she's positively aching to be touched. Bethany's eyes widen as she drags a finger through slick curls. Marian is wetter than she's ever been in her life, and the first gentle stroke of Bethany's fingertip against her might as well be electrically charged. She won't need much right now, not so soon after being enveloped in Bethany's heat. 

Thankfully, Bethany doesn't tease. She presses against Marian's side and rubs quick circles into Marian's flesh, and it's almost shameful how soon Marian buries her face in the crook of Bethany's neck and cries out her release. 

Marian's head is buzzing, her pulse roaring in her ears. Bethany's hand slides out of her trousers, then fingers are combing gently through Marian's hair, lips pressing soft kisses into her forehead. When Marian is a bit more relaxed, Bethany settles against her side, resting her head on Marian's chest. Marian wraps her arm around Bethany's shoulders, pulling her closer. 

They lie there in the quiet for what feels like hours, idly stroking whatever skin they can reach. Marian is starting to seriously consider getting up to get her own bedroll and their blankets when Bethany giggles. 

Smiling, Bethany turns her face up to Marian's questioning glance. "I was just thinking about all those stories Varric wrote about you. Can you imagine what he'd make of this?" 

"Maker," Marian groans. "I'm not sure even he could turn this into a story anyone would want to hear. Well, except Isabela." 

Bethany grins and settles her head back down on Marian's shoulder. "Maybe it's better that way," she murmurs. "It's _our_ story, after all—it's not for anyone else."

Warmth blossoms in Marian's chest. She squeezes Bethany, presses a kiss into the top of her head. It's hard to believe that not twenty four hours ago she was standing on the Lowtown steps, watching as the Chantry exploded in a column of unearthly light. She didn't expect to survive the following battle, certainly didn't think the templars would just stand there as she walked away. She thought her life was over, then; now it feels as though it's starting all over again. 

She's never been happier to be proved wrong.


End file.
